


Deviate and Vary

by Cylin



Series: Switch and Change [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Light BDSM, Light CBT, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is in charge...He has a utensil... (Charles's POV)</p><p>(Part two of the Switch and Change series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deviate and Vary

**Author's Note:**

> Hover over German sentences for translation

Erik has a tell, too. But not one, he uses consciously, like Charles does to signal that it is time.

No, Erik’s tell is more subtle, hidden and most times mildly annoying.

You see, when Erik feels he needs to let go of his control he fights it with all he’s worth inside himself to not let it happen. That makes him irritable and tense, makes him oddly thrumming underneath his cool exterior. Usually it grates at Charles’s nerves for a while until he decides to do something about it.

It’s almost like Erik is vibrating to the sound of a tuning fork. And that image has just given Charles a fabulous idea.

“Erik,” Charles says lowly, unthreatening, “You’re tense.”

But Erik catches on right away. His muscles snap even tighter, his whole frame now taught. It looks almost like a painful all body cramp is just happening in front of Charles. He sighs inwardly. Erik always fights this. Always. It’s always a battle with him.

It’s delicious.

But then Charles is sure Erik really likes Charles fighting back, fighting him for control and Erik doesn’t give up easily. It makes a victory all the more sweeter.

There is a fine hair trigger point just before. Before it happens and Erik gives in. Charles wants that moment and he knows without having to read him that Erik - secretly, desperately - despite his fighting and love of control, wants it too.

Charles gets up from his comfortable wing chair and puts the book on ethics he had been reading in only moments before onto the side table. He walks wordlessly past Erik.

Erik knows where Charles will go and he will follow him.

Charles knows this, Erik knows this.

When he passes Erik still sitting tense in the chair, watching him like a hawk, Charles lets two of his fingers casually slide along the neckline of Erik’s turtle neck.

Erik allows him to see the minute shiver the touch elicits.

The game begins.

Charles will make his way up to Erik’s room, but before that, he walks into the fine dining room and goes to one of the pompous cupboards at the end of the room. He needs to get something for Erik and him, something precious and nice. Once he finds what he is looking for he makes his way up to the first floor.

Charles wanders casually to Erik’s empty room, goes inside and stands by the window, looking outside over the vast grounds stretching before him. He waits.

Sometimes Erik is right behind him, sometimes Charles has to wait long for him. But Erik eventually always walks in after he has convinced his own pride that he has made Charles and himself wait long enough. Always so stubborn.

Beautiful.

Today Charles has to wait longer, but he allows Erik this. After all they are only at the beginning of this game and Charles feels magnanimous.

After only two more minutes of standing by the window waiting, Charles hears the door open and close behind him, hears soft footsteps on the thick carpeting. The movements come to rest at the exact centre of the room. Halfway between Charles and the door. Precise Erik.

A small, private smile steals over Charles’s face. It is there and gone in a ripple of emotion. Erik. Beautiful, stubborn Erik.

Charles turns around and smiles openly, warmly. Erik’s eyes shift up to his, see the smile and slide uneasily to the side.

Always so skittish in the beginning, always so afraid. Always so afraid to loose something. But Erik, my friend, you only loose yourself in yourself and that is the safest place for you to be.

Charles kneels down to undress him, because he knows from research on the camps and a few ill-fated attempts at easing Erik’s nightmares that back then he always had to undress himself.

He starts with Erik’s shoes and socks, suppressing a small shudder as his naked feet are freed.

Charles finds it an incredibly personal concept, a warm and indescribably precious thing, that Erik feels safer, if another is undressing him. That in this moment of shedding his clothes the contact of another is actually what feels safer for him.

Saf _er_.

 _Safer_ does not equal completely _safe_. It is only a degree of safety Erik feels and with Erik there are lots of degrees. There always are.

Charles marvels at discovering a new one every time he finds it, but most of all Charles relishes the moment he has reached the maximum - the accumulation of degrees that make up the complete feeling. Charles loves it when _he_ manages to trigger all the accumulations of all the degrees that make up the coil of one of Erik’s emotions.

The feeling of safety, absolute, unerring, complete safety is the greatest treasure Charles has gotten from Erik. And to think it lies in such a simple gesture. Charles is in awe.

Erik feels safe, completely and utterly safe, if _Charles_ is undressing him.

Charles would never, not for any feeling of almighty power, jeopardise this trust. And Erik knows that, trusts that.

And gets off on it.

This was the most inspiring and astonishing revelation of all.

Erik would endure anything Charles throws at him - pain, humiliation, _anything_ \- only to have his trust in Charles proven right in the end, that it was all a game in the end, that in reality Charles would never break that trust, would never really hurt Erik.

 _That_ is the undercurrent to every swirling feeling, every tightly wound desire, every emotion when Erik finally comes. This trust that Charles – powerful, powerful Charles – _could_ hurt him and even sometimes tells Erik’s mind that he does, but then he never truly will.

Charles gets up slowly, very close, rubbing his body full length against the side of Erik in one fluid motion. Diving up, his own body awash with sudden searing attention, surfacing beside Erik’s face, he takes a deep, full breath. Erik has is eyes closed, savouring the feel of the man he knows so well and cares for so well at other times close to him. He exhales, head tipped slightly sideways towards Charles, as Charles takes his surfacing breath. Charles’s chest expands in sudden, nearly overwhelming pride and joy, knowing that Erik does this just for him, because Charles likes the feeling and idea of sharing breath.

Charles feels the swell of emotion accompanied by a hot rush of blood to his cock, stirring and hardening. He savours the feeling, knows Erik can feel it too so close to him. _This is what you do to me, Erik. You._

Still standing beside him, the lengths of their bodies touching, Charles pulls the turtleneck and undershirt up to the middle of his stomach, revealing his navel and the trail of darker, curling hair, loosening Erik’s belt while he is down there with his hands. It’s only efficient. And Charles knows, that for some reason he has not uncovered yet, an undone belt and trousers and leaving him this way for a moment gives Erik a certain feeling of gently swaying helplessness that secretly he enjoys very much, but would never say so. No matter though, Charles is in his head and knows, and he will give him what Erik wants and needs, getting what he himself wants and needs.

“Please lift your arms, Erik,” Charles murmurs softly, but firm against Erik’s cheek. Erik likes politeness. So does Charles.

Erik lifts his arms without hesitation, deliberately drawing his left arm against Charles’s body close to his, along Charles’s crotch and a tiny smile flits across his face. There and gone in an instant as he can undoubtedly feel Charles shudder, already half hard.

 _It’s ok, Erik, I’ll grant you that_ , Charles thinks with a generous smile, imagining already, planning and scheming, how he will use this small feeling of victory in Erik now to take him down with it later.

Charles carefully pulls the two garments over Erik’s head, taking care they don’t catch on his nose - Erik doesn’t like that – brushing his hair gently as he pulls the clothes free. Erik stands before him now just in his undone trousers with the undone belt. Goosebumps spring up along his arms the longer Charles watches. Maybe it is a little too cool for this here. But then maybe not. And Erik can take it either way. He has to, because Charles wants it this way.

Indulging himself Charles lets one hand trail slowly along the length of Erik’s back, flat palm stroking, firmly caressing scars and unmarred skin alike.

So beautiful.

“Erik, I love your back,” Charles murmurs softly. Erik likes compliments. Charles likes giving them. Erik does not seem to react at all to this, but Charles can feel that swell of pride and gently caressed ego in him and he smiles, stopping for a moment in his fluent stroke downwards to show Erik that he noticed. Erik’s eyes drift halfway closed contentedly.

“Arms behind you back, please,” Charles whispers with a friendly twitch of his lips. Erik complies, relaxing into a comfortably widened stand.

Charles touches the belt and Erik’s eyes snap open again, his breath hitches suddenly, stubbornly suppressed the next instant.

“You had forgotten your belt and trousers were undone,” Charles murmurs sharply, with the hint of a malicious chuckle in his tone. A hot flush of excitement rushes down his spine at the realisation. Charles isn’t sure, if the feeling of swaying helplessness Erik is freely radiating for him, or the fact that he had Erik so focused on himself that he forgot about his trousers and belt, is more of a turn on for Charles.

 _That’s right Erik, you are helpless here with me_ , Charles thinks, feeling thrilled and doesn’t know how much of that thought bleeds over as Erik squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and grits his teeth on a moan. _You like being here_. A timid whimper escapes between gritted teeth and Charles grins, elated, letting his hand rest against his own erection for a moment, just because he can. He breathes down Erik’s neck and sees how the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise and goosebumps form in the wake of the moist air.

So responsive.

Charles shifts a little, now standing directly before Erik, who refuses to meet his eyes. Their bodies still flush against each other, Charles slides his hands underneath the fabric of trousers and shorts cupping Erik’s naked arse and pushes the whole ensemble over the firm muscles downwards. Erik’s breath quickens as Charles slowly drops to his knees before him, following the trousers down Erik’s legs to the floor.

Charles is hard, has been for a while now. He notices Erik is only halfway there, that he is fighting even that with an admirable stubbornness.

_Proud, proud Erik, I’ll take you down in a gentle maelstrom, take you apart and you will love it. You will adore me for it. You love me. And I love you._

Erik shudders again, a quiet, helplessly shy mewl escaping his lips. Maybe these thoughts bled over as well, Charles is not entirely sure. Both their control over their gifts is always slipping in these scenarios in either roles, to the point they forget about being capable of gifts in the first place, reduced to just being them. Free of burdens and differences, for a glorious moment with no pasts and no futures. Being just Charles and just Erik. Being just human. Wouldn’t that be great?

Getting up again from the floor, Charles stops halfway at Erik’s hips to bite his left protruding hipbone and lathe it gently with his tongue. Erik makes an impatient disapproving sound that dies a quick death as Charles’s eyes snap up at him, his gaze hard and unforgiving.

Erik’s eyes quickly slide away to the side and then the ground. Yes, maybe he was too gentle here, too obsequious, but it’s not Erik’s place to decide, and who is to say Charles is not allowed to indulge? In retaliation Charles lets the upper row of his teeth rest against the curve of hipbone and pushes his head menacingly slowly forward. Make him really feel the build up of pressure. Charles knows Erik doesn’t enjoy pain, yet he makes his teeth first brush and then push against the flesh, sharply depressing muscle and skin. He knows Erik must feel this and that it is quite uncomfortable, but he does not react. Even his breathing stays smooth and easy.

 _Well done_ , Charles thinks warmly, _you’re doing so, so well_. Letting go, he brushes his tongue over the red indentations of his teeth as praise and private indulgence and Erik breathes out slowly with a barely audible, shuddering whimper.

“I have something for you,” Charles says smiling brightly as he stands before Erik again. Erik looks back at him, finally meeting his eyes, curious. Charles is proud to notice it is an open, honest look, not suppressed or stubbornly held back. Okay, so they are getting closer, are closer already than Charles thought. Brilliant.

Charles takes the item he has misappropriated from the dining room earlier out of his pocket, but holds it behind his back, out of sight. Erik’s eyebrow twitches up for an instant, clearly intrigued, but a little too proud still to ask for it.

Stubborn, stubborn. But more open. Beautiful.

The elegant, long-pronged fork is made entirely of silver. Erik likes precious metals. Whether it has something to do with his ability, Charles doesn’t know. _Maybe Erik is just secretly a snob_ , Charles thinks a little viciously, letting the utensil twirl between his fingers.

The fork suddenly vibrates for a moment in Charles’s grip with tension. Erik probably isn’t even aware his mind has groped out for the precious metal. Charles makes a disapproving clucking sound. “My friend, you should forget about your gift, like I forget about mine, when you’re in charge.” Erik huffs quietly, helplessly at the hidden compliment in this statement. Charles’s smile widens. He can feel his own blood rushing in his ears, thundering through his body at Erik’s slow, but powerfully erotic capitulation.

Charles’s voice never changes, not like Erik’s does when he is in power. Charles sounds normal, relaxed, like they are having a discussion over the chess board. And he always makes compliments in his comments, like he knows Erik craves. Erik has always craved his attention and approval. Charles knows this, knows of the appeal he holds for Erik especially. He is a small, but oh so powerful man. And that sets Erik on edge, keeps him on his guard, on his toes – sometimes literally, if Charles ties him up to a rafter - because in Erik you can see the raw energy, the powerful gift inside him and the iron will to go with it, the will that wields the gift with such precision and ruthless focus. In Charles? Not so much. But that in itself is power.

Charles slinks deliberately sinuous around Erik, their bodies touching and sliding for a moment against each other, letting Erik feel how much his surrender turns him on. Standing behind him now, Charles can look at Erik’s wonderful back again.

Erik can kill you with the fillings from your teeth and you suspect it when you see him. But Charles? Charles can make you enjoy and crave it and think that carving your heart out with a spoon is the best thing since sliced bread. Charles chuckles darkly at the thought and one of Erik’s buttocks twitches. That is the only visible sign that he actually just jumped out of his skin at the sound. Charles smirks, letting the flat side of the fork handle rest against the crease where Erik’s buttock meets his thigh.

As the cold metal touches his skin, Erik shudders, his shoulders straining against the hands he has clasped firmly behind his back, fingers tightening for a moment. Wonderful play of muscles straining and shifting. Charles sighs contentedly.

Erik still looks like he is standing at ease, legs comfortably spread to balance his weight, his head held high, hands behind his back. He looks like a soldier standing before an officer, the illusion only marred by the fact that he is completely naked. And Charles is not.

He is still only half hard yet, Charles notices. But then they have only just begun and Charles is determined to reduce Erik to a quivering, beautiful, satiated wreck. Delicious.

Erik’s beautiful back calls to Charles like it always does. This magnificent back. Charles would never mar it. There are too many scars as it is on this wonderful expanse of skin. But he knows Erik craves it. Or more specifically craves what comes after. So he lets the pointed prongs touch the surface, telling Erik’s nervous system they’ve just broken through.

Erik’s mind is suddenly awash with a piercing flare of pain. His knees buckle slightly, so Charles twists the fork on the skin, letting it feel like it is turning _inside_ flesh, as a warning to just stand still.

Erik grunts, sweat springing up at the back of his neck. Charles can smell it, the salty scent mixed with that characteristic, wholesome smell that is uniquely Erik. Charles imagines he can taste the salt on his tongue, feels saliva suddenly accumulate underneath it in response to the thought. Beads of sweat are forming now, dampening Erik’s hair as it soaks up the moisture, then - oversaturated - it releases the bodily fluid in small, clear droplets that run together, increasing their flow speed as they pearl down over Erik’s magnificent expanse of back.

One droplet gets caught between the fork’s prongs. Charles sees it and smiles. He tells Erik’s mind how it is mixing with blood, how much that stings in an open wound. Erik grunts again, teeth grating, his head sagging a little forward. There is the hint of a yelp on his breath, but nothing more. He stands firm.

“I’m so proud of you, Erik,” Charles whispers in a voice as black as silk.

Just like that Charles lets the illusion drop and Erik’s pain is abruptly trumped by an overwhelming, thick and fast warm-wash feeling of trust well placed. This time Erik’s knees do buckle. A moan is ripped from his throat, loud and clear. He moans again helplessly, intensely relieved and in sudden obvious arousal. He manages barely to catch himself as his knees give out under him by tipping one foot forwards, catching his weight, panting heavily for a few moments. Erik slowly stands up straight again, gathering the control over his limbs around himself like a shroud. And Charles lets him - more for him to take down again.

Erik, what you give me is magnificent.

Charles is drunk with power. This is the only time he lets himself indulge in it, the only setting in which he would allow himself to have this. This magnificent, megalomaniacal feeling, this sway of power, the seductive pull of an unrestricted, unreserved, absolute rule.

He rules over Erik, because Erik lets him. Erik gives it to him like a gift. It is a gift to Charles and he takes it inside himself with the greatest care and gentleness, treasuring it for the precious thing it is. He still marvels how easily Erik gives him this. Makes himself into a gift to Charles personally.

Charles suppresses a moan. It is not his place to moan and writhe. Not in this instant, not in this scenario. He will let Erik know how much he appreciates him in a different way. He circles Erik again, uncomfortably hindered by his own erection, letting the prongs of the fork scrape gently over Erik’s shoulder blades and arm without any help from his gift as he moves around. Erik knows this is just a game. Their game. They play it together beautifully.

Standing quietly before him, Charles looks directly at his face. He looks at Erik sharply, assessing his willpower today. Well, for every moan Charles cannot yet emit in this scenario, he will make Erik pay, make him scream and beg and groan tenfold. He grins up at Erik’s face. It’s a boyish grin that looks more evil and dark, because it is seeped in playful malice.

Erik swallows, his eyes shifting quickly away from his face, focusing on anything, but Charles’s dark expression. Charles knows it is hard to bear for Erik, that the anticipation and the slight, spicy undercurrent of fear that is still there is too much. He doesn’t hold it against Erik at this point.

They are not there yet, that point in space and time, when Erik’s eyes are half-lidded, sometimes tears streaking relaxed down his face and his mind is finally at rest. When his synapses fire, but only sensation runs through his nervous system, no cortical interpretation or conscious thought following it. Total, all-encompassing peace. A paralytic will at the centre of a body awash in sensation. That is what Charles wants to achieve. It doesn’t always work, but he has a good feeling about today. Charles can get him there. With the right technique he can get Erik there and ride that turmoil like a wave all the way with him to that inevitable end in a mirror-smooth pool of stillness and absolute trust.

Smiling wickedly, Charles lowers the fork, letting the curved, blunt side of the prongs caress Erik’s side. He sidles the utensil around to the front, over his stomach muscles. Erik’s eyes snap up to his.

_Pant for me, Erik, groan and grunt for me, writhe and twist and, please, please scream for me._

Erik grits his teeth tightly shut, eyes boring defiantly into Charles’s.

Charles knows that the more he taunts him, the more he asks, the more Erik will punish him for it at a later time when their roles are reversed. Delicious case of cause and effect. Wonderful, beautiful dichotomy.

Charles holds his gaze, as he deliberately slows the movement, his smile turning dark and cruelly foreboding, as he gently turns the fork in his grasp, pointing the prongs against the skin and coarse hair, scraping against the flesh and slowly lower. He won’t need telepathy for this. The prongs are viciously sharp.

Erik’s eyes widen and his breath quickens sharply. There is a spike of actual fear in his gaze now.

 _Yes, Erik._ Charles smirks. _That’s right, Erik._

“Charles?” Erik whispers uncertainly, his voice hoarse and thready.

Charles surges up abruptly, capturing Erik’s mouth with his, plunging his tongue forward, the fork resting harmlessly against the dip between groin and thigh for the moment. Erik is pulled along, the threat momentarily forgotten, as their tongues stroke and slide wetly on saliva.

“Trust me, Erik,” Charles mumbles, voice slick and moist. Erik just moans quietly in answer following Charles’s mouth as he stands back down. Erik has his eyes closed in total bliss, lips slightly parted, his body glistening with sweat, hair soaked, standing up in messy tufts. He mewls lowly, yearning, as Charles does not lean back in for a kiss, and his eyes slowly open. He looks a little drugged. Charles is pleased.

“Trust me,” he says again. He lets his eyes flick downwards indicating Erik should follow his lead and look down. He does, breathing loudly though his nose as Charles lets the fork inch slowly closer to his cock, deviating at the last moment, dipping lower towards his balls.

Erik’s back gets ramrod straight, all the muscles tightening in anticipation of intense pain. Suddenly he rears back, snapping his head up, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t – Charles, please – I can’t, Ican’tIcan’t _ichkannnichtkannnichtkannnicht_ ,” Erik stutters franticly, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Charles freezes in his movement, stopping all that he is doing. He waits for a moment. Waits for the safeword. But it does not come. Erik’s breath is thundering through his nostrils in strangled puffs, his whole body shaking, his eyes leaking moisture, still shut tight.

He has to play it differently then. Charles is not disappointed in the least, he fashions himself a pragmatist after all. It merely means a change of plan to still reach the same goal. This makes these sessions really interesting. Charles never knows what to expect. He can plan this carefully, only to have it change on him, because Erik is Erik and always unpredictable.

Charles lifts his hand to Erik’s face, tips his head forwards again carefully - oh so gently - so it is about level with his own. “It’s ok, Erik,” he whispers lovingly, “You don’t have to look. Just look at me.” Erik slowly opens his eyes, but he keeps them trained on his own collarbone. “Look at me,” Charles coaxes a little more firmly. Skittishly Erik’s eyes drift upwards, but they slide to Charles’s left ear, just before their gaze would meet. “Erik!” Charles warns and Erik finally complies, for a moment looking afraid, almost vulnerable about what he will find in Charles’s gaze.

His whole body shivers into a strangely thrumming relaxation as he sees Charles’s open, accepting, _proud_ look.

“You’re doing so well, Erik. Now, let me take care of you.”

Erik’s moan cracks in his throat, sounding muffled and pitifully small as it fights its way out of his chest at Charles’s quiet praise. His eyes never stray from Charles’s. “Trust me, Erik,” Charles murmurs lowly against his nose and Erik nods, demeanour compliant and soft again.

Charles can feel Erik’s breath quicken again to erratic huffs and rough pants as he starts to move the fork again, inching closer and closer to sensitive skin. Erik has started to sweat again, the moisture running down his arms and slicking his chest, getting trapped in his pubic hair further down. The sheen makes him look like he glistens in the light of the room. Charles is surrounded by his scent, enveloped in it and he loves it. So beautiful, Erik.

His breath is laboured, but Erik has only eyes for Charles, his look never wavering, yet emotions dart over his face, quick like swallows. Fear, admiration, panic, hopeful trust, adoration. He is seldom this open. Charles could cry with this overpowering elation.

“ _Ich bin so, **so** stolz auf dich _ ,” he murmurs in broken German, words plucked from Erik’s mind. Erik shudders without a sound, his eyes open and clear, gaze full of devotion. His shudders intensify as Charles lets the fork drift against the sensitive skin of his balls, sharp prongs skipping along the wrinkles. Erik’s eyes drift partially shut, as his breath hitches, but he holds Charles’s gaze. It shouldn’t hurt much, maybe feel mildly uncomfortable, but the fear and anticipation have heightened Erik’s awareness of his skin and its nervous input. He sways on his feet.

His arms come up suddenly, skittering hesitantly up to Charles’s sides, unsure if he is allowed to touch. Charles nods. _Whatever you need, Erik._

Relieved Erik braces himself, even widening his stance to give Charles better access. Charles is surprised for a moment, until the feeling is replaced with satisfaction. _Strong, beautiful Erik_ , he whispers into Erik’s mind and hears a heartfelt groan in answer. God, he is so close himself. His cock throbbing, the tense atmosphere in the room is adding to the intensity of it all.

Charles brings the fork carefully up in front, the pointed silver now running along the shaft of Erik’s cock with the merest of pressure. Charles is pleased to notice Erik is still fully hard. Charles lets his eyes flick downwards for a second. Judging from the flush of the silky skin and the precome glistening at the tip, probably uncomfortably hard. Charles grins wickedly up and Erik smiles hesitantly back.

“I want you to come against my leg,” Charles murmurs, voice enthralling and thick with his own arousal. Erik nods emphatically, breath now harsh and erratic and loud in the room. He pushes his hips forwards, but stops, unsure, as the fork is still resting with its sharp prongs against his cock. He mewls softly, pleadingly at Charles, drawing his brows together, helplessly waiting on permission and a hint at what to do.

“Patience, Erik.” Charles smirks. “I’d like to show you something else, before you do.”

Erik pants roughly, barely able to hold on, cock leaking and sweat trickling over skin already slick with moisture. He shudders and sways a little forward, his hands on Charles’s sides tightening, but he stays upright, his gaze still hefted on Charles’s eyes. It seems they are his anchoring point.

Charles lifts both arms, one hand holding the fork and pulls them around Erik’s neck. Erik lets him, pliant to whatever Charles wants to do and content with it. Charles pushes one leg out a little, pushing it just in contact with the underside of Erik’s hard cock. Erik moans quietly, but doesn’t move, patiently waiting, still swaying gently against Charles.

“Listen,” Charles instructs, just before he snaps his fingers against the long prongs of the fork and rests the handle against the base of Erik’s skull.

Suddenly Erik’s head is awash with gently thrumming sound, but there is also the singing vibration of the metal his gift enables him to sense underneath it all. It is new to Charles, but he can feel how much Erik likes it. Erik moans again, astonished and amazed, eyes now half-lidded and liquid with awe. Erik is drunk with relaxation of the mind paired with an intensive tension of the body. This is it.

“Now you can come, Erik” Charles allows, making the fork sing with another snap of his fingers. “And get me off as well, please.”

Erik nods greedily, eager to please, the movement making the sound change subtly inside his head. He surges forwards, into Charles’s leg, balancing, so Erik’s own leg is rubbing between Charles’s legs at his crotch just the way Charles likes it.

 _Erik, you’re so_ – Charles chokes on the thoughts, sensation and the sway of his power, the absolute satisfaction and pleasure welling up from Erik blindingly bright inside his head.

“God, you’re so good,” Charles chokes out, now panting himself at the delicious pressure and friction Erik conjures up with his body against his. He leans up again to capture Erik’s mouth in a rough, demanding kiss and Erik just gives as Charles snaps against the fork a last time.

He feels sound explode inside Erik’s head, oddly gentle and with a soft metallic whirr, as Charles shudders against Erik, panting and moaning into his mouth. He feels Erik seize up and then tremble, too, the splash of come on his trousers blooming wetly on his thigh. Erik is almost silent when he comes, hoarsely snuffling against Charles’s lips. His exhale shudders violently out of him as he relaxes – collapses - into complete stillness.

Erik is still standing upright, but his eyes are closed, his lips parted, resting against Charles’s own in a touch that is not a kiss, but a point of gentle contact.

Their breath slows between them. Charles can feel the damp air washing over his lips and chin. “How do you feel?” he whispers quietly.

“ _Sicher_ ,” Erik whispers, then adds, “ _Müde_.” The meaning of the words – the emotional response that is so thickly, personally intertwined with these words - plucked from Erik’s sluggish mind again.

“Then sleep,” Charles murmurs softly against Erik’s lips, as he helps Erik collapse onto the bed.

And Erik does.

~x~


End file.
